


The Nice & Accurate Discography of Andrew Hozier-Byrne

by thegoodbabey



Category: Andrew Hozier-Byrne (Musician), From Eden - Hozier (Music Video), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Nobody - Hozier (Song)
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Music, Song: From Eden (Hozier), Song: Nobody (Hozier), The One In Which Crowley Inadvertently Writes Hozier's Entire Discography Whilst Drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 04:11:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20482661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodbabey/pseuds/thegoodbabey
Summary: Crowley finds a bar in which to drown his thoughts, and meets a young musician.





	The Nice & Accurate Discography of Andrew Hozier-Byrne

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first piece of fanfiction, and the first time I have ever published any piece of my writing!  
It is based on a tumblr post originally by @heylenaa.  
I hope you enjoy and would love to know what you think!

Soho, 2012

Crowley had always been grateful for the lack of quiet spaces in the bustling West End. His own residence had become a place of anguish, and every night that he returned to the pristine, slate-colored apartment alone was filled with a plethora of thoughts about an ANGEL, of all things. The angel who, despite having told Crowley that he “goes too fast for him”, Crowley could never seem to catch up with. Then again, there were a lot of things Crowley couldn’t catch up with – for 6,000 years, his heart had always managed to run away from him entirely before there was ever a prayer of pulling it back. 

So, on nights when he began to see Aziraphale in every surface of his thoughts and would rather discorporate than spend any more time with his own screaming mind, he would retreat into the wild comfort of city life where he could get drunk & talk out loud to no one.

On one particular night, he sauntered into a relatively new bar – a hip space that often hosted live music from local & up-and-coming musicians. The night was still young and the bar was filled with people, some of who had been there since late afternoon and others who were only just pouring in. After weaving his way through a maze of booths and tables, Crowley found his way to a spot at the counter and ordered a drink. Thankful for the energetic surroundings to finally, FINALLY provide a sense of distraction, his eyes began to wander as he waited. 

In the corner of the bar, a small stage held a mess of wires as well as a microphone and two stands holding acoustic guitars. Shifting his way around the area in front of the stage was one of the tallest and lankiest humans Crowley had ever laid eyes on. The man moved gracefully and swiftly as he prepared what Crowley gathered must be his set. Dressed in muted, forest-like colors and wearing his long brown hair pulled up at the base of his neck, he LOOKED like a musician, and a dashing one at that. His hands, large but evidently gentle, picked up one of the guitars and tuned it with care. It wasn’t often that Crowley listened to music that wasn’t Queen, but he downed a large portion of his drink and listened carefully as the man on the stage introduced himself.

“Hello, everyone,” he said softly, his voice carrying a gentle Irish lilt and a patience that Crowley did not often hear from humans. “My name is Andrew, I’m going to play you a new tune.” In a single motion, he pulled the strap of the guitar over his shoulder and fastened it, and began a song. 

My lover's got humor  
She's the giggle at a funeral  
Knows everybody's disapproval  
I should've worshipped her sooner  
If the Heavens ever did speak  
She’s the last true mouthpiece  
Every Sunday's getting more bleak  
A fresh poison each week  
"We were born sick", you heard them say it  
My church offers no absolution  
She tells me 'worship in the bedroom'  
The only heaven I'll be sent to  
Is when I'm alone with you

The singer’s croon was soft as silk yet unspeakably powerful, and Crowley felt the wind knocked out of him at this particular line as the religious tones drew his thoughts back to Aziraphale. His mind, which had begun to cloud slightly with the alcohol, was becoming harder to control, and the more he listened to the song, the more he felt as though he himself must have written it. 

The singer finished the song, and as much as Crowley would have liked to applaud, he didn’t find it to be a very demonic gesture and chose instead to order another drink. After several more songs, including a cover Crowley recognized from the late 1990’s, the singer announced a short break and, unbeknownst to Crowley, approached the barstool to his right. 

“Excuse me, do you have the time?” he asked, startling a slightly drunk Crowley. As he often did, Crowley responded without thinking.

“Gin o’clock,” he slurred, tipping his glass upward and immediately cringing subtly at his own behavior. However, the singer appeared amused and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile.

“I like that,” he laughed lightly. “May I sit?” Crowley waved his hand, welcoming the company but not trusting himself to speak again. The singer sat down and ordered a drink.

“Andrew,” he said, turning to Crowley and holding out his hand. Vaguely surprised by the gesture, he returned it.

“Crowley,” he said, shaking his hand. “Like your song.” Andrew leaned in slightly.

“Sorry, what was that?” he asked, unable to hear over the growing noise in the bar. Crowley felt a lurch in his heart, remembering these as the first words he ever heard from Aziraphale’s lips on the wall of Eden the day they met. He quickly composed himself enough to respond. 

“I said,” he spat, “I liked… your song.” He worried for a moment that he came off as rude despite the compliment, but Andrew smiled broadly with large teeth.

“Thank you,” he beamed. “It’s new. Hopefully the rest will follow soon.” Crowley didn’t know if it was the alcohol or simply Andrew’s pleasant personality, but he could feel words begin to spill out of his mouth before he could stop himself. 

“Reminded me of my friend,” he said, his voice rolling in his throat but managing to emerge mostly comprehensible. “Your song. I mean, he’s an angel, I suppose you could call him a bit of a religious type…” His voice trailed off, sensing this was more about Aziraphale than he should have said at all. Andrew, however, seemed to enjoy the commentary. 

“That’s a lovely sentiment,” he said. Crowley scoffed, which turned into a laugh. 

“You have NO idea,” he said, taking another drink. Though he reveled in the surrounding noise and the quiet company of the young man to his right, Crowley still found himself thinking of Aziraphale. The angel drove him out of his mind – his often pretentious attitude, his unfiltered sass, his constant commitment to the side of the universe that cared so little for his precious existence. But as his mind wandered, Crowley realized that EVERY one of even Aziraphale’s most irritating qualities were nothing if not endearing to him, and that especially the last of these thoughts was born out of sheer jealousy. If Aziraphale would only dedicate the amount of energy to Crowley as he did to attempting to please Heaven, he would find a love beyond even that of God herself. 

“You know,” Crowley said, feeling the thoughts dripping uncontrollably off his tongue once again. “I come out here for the noise but I’d take the soothing of his voice over this any day.” He flinched at how incriminating this last confession was, and took another drink when he felt Andrew’s eyes on him. He looked over hesitantly, expecting to see a face of judgement or pity but was met instead with a look of curiosity.

“Tell me more about that,” said Andrew. 

Crowley’s mind, for the first time in days, went blank. After all this time harboring thoughts and feelings for Aziraphale with no outlet to relieve himself of them, he never bothered preparing for someone to ASK him about it. Where would he even begin? How does one go about spilling thousands of years of love without it ending in anything less than chaos? And, above all else, HOW was he going to do this drunk and still maintain any sort of dignity?

“He’s just such a pain in the ass,” Crowley came up with, alcohol spinning throughout his vessel. “And I’m already no saint, believe me. REALLY not. But… he spends all this time trying to prove himself with this holier-than-thou attitude even though he can’t HELP but go against it sometimes. Because he knows that sometimes what’s good and what’s right are different,” he rambled as he willed his heart to still, recounting all of Aziraphale’s sins against heaven, the misdeeds he’d done for the good of humanity – and occasionally, for the good of Crowley. 

“I mean, he gave away the sword, for crying out loud! He did that just to protect them,” he leaned his head on his hands, aware that Andrew must think he’s out of his mind but unable to stop the flood. “He did it for them,” Crowley repeated, thinking back once again on the moment he fell in love for the first and only time in his eternal life. “I wouldn’t have fallen for him if I thought he couldn’t misbehave a little.” 

Now THAT was incriminating. It felt like slipping into quicksand, but he noticed Andrew still listening and, for whatever reason, appearing more fascinated and even caring than disconcerted. 

“Where is he now?” he asked, and Crowley was somewhat pleased that he went the easy route instead of asking about the sword that Crowley had mentioned without considering consequences. Crowley stared into the glass on the table.

“Here, in Soho. We’ve both been ‘round here for awhile, he runs a bookshop. And I’m… stuck going home alone every night,” Crowley sighed deeply. “Whatever this is we have, I can’t lose it. There’s just something so precious about it, y’know? He’s too good and too wholesome for me and I know that, but I can’t help but want him closer to me. That’s not such a sin, is it?” 

Andrew shook his head.

“S’pose I just feel like a fool sometimes,” Crowley continued. “He’ll ask me on picnics or to lunch or to drink with him in the bookshop, but Satan forbid I try to get closer, he buggers off. I mean… I slithered all the way here from Eden, and for what? Just to hide outside his door?”

Crowley turns to look at Andrew, nervous at his silence. But the expression on his face is one of pure intrigue, with a vague sense of admiration hiding just below the surface. Crowley, who had only ever felt this listened to by Aziraphale, considered his last confession and realized that perhaps he had been slightly more eloquent, if not emotional, than he anticipated. He wondered if Hell would consider it a demonic miracle that he could speak his thoughts so clearly despite being sloshed, but this thought evaporated as Andrew finally responded.

“Stop hiding, then,” he said. “You don’t sound like much of a fool to me. So don’t hide. You go up to the door and knock. And when he lets you in, let him know just why you came this far. Part of me has a feeling he already knows.” Crowley sat silent and still next to him, and Andrew laid an understanding hand on his shoulder as he stood up.

“I need to get back to my set, but if I don’t see you again, I enjoyed the conversation. Hope everything works out.” Andrew gave a reassuring smile and returned to the stage, leaving Crowley deep in thought. Could it really be that easy? Walking up to your quite literally God-given enemy and risking it all just to know if he loves you back? The answer was no, it couldn’t be that easy. The better question was whether it would be worth it, and that was a question Crowley already knew the answer to. Because he would rather be stuck in a perpetual freefall from Heaven than lie to Aziraphale for another 6,000 years, letting the angel he loved remain so close yet so far out of reach.

Crowley stumbled off the barstool and glanced back at the stage, hoping to catch Andrew’s eye before leaving the bar. But when he turned around, he was focused intently on a scrappy notebook, quickly scrawling away at the page. Crowley smiled softly and returned to the street, his thoughts drowning once again in the world outside. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Soho, 2013

A year later, Crowley had still not opened up to Aziraphale. Though it boiled in his blood and burned in every interaction they had together, and though he still often revisited the conversation he’d had with a young musician in a crowded bar, he couldn’t bring himself to risk decimating the balance they’d struck. Crowley’s heart was tucked neatly in Aziraphale’s pocket, and if the angel wanted to go slowly, Crowley was in no place to deny him. 

“Shall I put on one of your records?” asked Aziraphale, holding a beaten-up Queen CD case. Crowley frowned. 

“Ah. Don’t feel like it today. Why don’t you throw on the radio?” he said, hoping that the Bentley would let him listen to new music today. Aziraphale leaned forward and turned on the radio, and from the low volume came an unmistakable voice. 

… babe, there’s something lonesome about you  
Something so wholesome about you  
Get closer to me

“So, I was thinking perhaps this afternoon we could – “ Aziraphale began, suddenly startled by Crowley’s hand flying towards the volume dial. 

“Shh, angel, shut it!” he said, suddenly listening all too carefully to the radio. Aziraphale knew that he didn’t often listen to music that wasn’t Queen, but his behavior was nonetheless abnormal. He spent several minutes watching Crowley listen to the song, searching for some sort of clue, before actually bothering to focus on the music himself.

… babe, there's something wretched about this  
Something so precious about this  
Oh what a sin

To the strand a picnic plan for you and me  
A rope in hand for your other man to hang from a tree

Honey you're familiar like my mirror years ago  
Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword  
Innocence died screaming, honey ask me I should know  
I slithered here from Eden just to hide outside your door

“The absolute bastard,” Crowley said under his breath, but there was an astonished smile on his face. He was almost touched to know Andrew had not only been listening that closely to his drunken lovelorn ramblings, but that he’d thought enough to write about them. 

“Oh why, Crowley, what a lovely song! I’ve never heard one like it!” Aziraphale said, beaming brightly as ever. “What fine days we had in Eden, after all. Don’t you think?” Crowley looked over at him, thinking he may just be set alight by his radiance. 

“Yeah, angel. Guess we did.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Tadfield, 2019

Crowley didn’t drive more than ten miles above the speed limit since the world was saved. He also never drove alone again.

After Armageddon was averted and a proverbial middle finger was given to the respective sides of Heaven and Hell, Crowley no longer saw the point in hiding from Aziraphale – not to mention the fact that he wasn’t sure he could physically bear it anymore anyway. So, after a lovely evening at the Ritz, on the steps of a bookshop at the center of a bustling city, a demon confessed his love to an angel, whose eyes were filled with tears as he requited. The two souls spilled into one another with relief above all else. Every ounce of suffering they had endured over thousands of years had come to pass, and was now deemed wholly, entirely worth it. 

The days that followed were dedicated solely to making up for lost time, and if the world outside could feel the love that filled the bookshop and spilled out onto the street below, it would put each and every mortal romance to shame. 

One particular day, while driving home from an afternoon at Newt and Anathema’s, Aziraphale’s elbow rested gently on Crowley’s shoulder as he absentmindedly ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair, giggling in his ear as they discussed the events of the day. 

With one hand on the wheel and the other taking Aziraphale's, Crowley remembered a much more business related car ride six years ago and reached over to flip on the radio. 

You know when it’s twelve o'clock in Soho, baby  
It's gin o'clock where I wake up, I don't know  
I think about you though, everywhere I go  
And I've done everything and I've been everywhere you know

“Isn’t this that gentleman that sang about Eden? Oh, I do love that song, dear,” said Aziraphale, who had sought out the tune many times since its release. Crowley smiled once again. This was an intervention by God herself – he was sure of it. Keeping his eyes on the road as best he could, he kissed Aziraphale gently on the cheek and tuned back into the song, listening for more of his own secrets in Andrew’s voice. 

… If I had the choice between hearing either noise  
Excitement of a thousand or the soothing of your voice  
At first chance, I'd take the bed warmed by the body  
I once warmed my hands over a burning Maserati

Still I've had no love like your love  
From nobody  
I'd be appalled if I saw you ever try to be a saint  
I wouldn't fall for someone I thought couldn't misbehave  
But I want you to know that I've had no love like your love

And on the other side, why should we deny the truth?  
We could have less to worry about, honey, I won't lie to you  
But everything I do, I've had no love like your love

“He’s really quite good,” Aziraphale said softly, resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder, who gave a simple “mm” in response. The lyrics ran through Crowley’s head over and over, including the details that happened long after their encounter but still managed to align perfectly with the continuation of Crowley’s own existence. "A Bentley," he willed into the universe, hoping the thought would find its way to Andrew. "It was a burning Bentley."

Within only a few minutes, Crowley could tell from the sound of his slowed-down breathing that Aziraphale had dozed off. The demon inhaled deeply and sighed, a level of content settling in his soul that the universe had never allowed him before. 

His mind briefly drifted back to his fall from Heaven. Such thoughts once brought him unimaginable pain, but now they simply blended into the millions of memories he had of his thousands of years on Earth. He was alive, and the angel he had loved since the beginning was now right where he had always wanted him. If there ever was an ineffable plan, this had been part of it, and the angel and demon had been working towards it their entire lives whether they realized it or not. 

For that, Crowley could do nothing but thank God.

And forgive her.


End file.
